


Let Me Sleep Beside You

by aireyv



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Deathfic, No Sexual Content, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 07:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13736406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aireyv/pseuds/aireyv
Summary: Your darkened eyes throw mystery/But your lips are void of history/You could not imagine that it could happen this way, could you/I will give you dreams and I'll tell you things you'll like to hear





	Let Me Sleep Beside You

**Author's Note:**

> Yup... another #MGS Offscreen scrap I retooled to fit a Wintergames prompt! :)

Miller awoke to the loud beeping of his proximity alarm. Someone or something had crossed the edge of his property, and it was usually an animal, and occasionally during the day it was a lost hiker accidentally trespassing. Middle of the night, though. Probably an animal.

He laid in bed a moment longer, eyes closed, trying to go back to sleep, but some instinct he thought he’d retired was urging him to get up and check.

Grumbling, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep without checking, he grabbed his SOCOM and shrugged a thick coat over his bare torso, stepped into his boots and walked outside. He didn’t need a flashlight even though it was dark. Actually, considering it was a full moon that night, he probably wouldn’t have really needed a flashlight anyway, if he could have seen more than just vague shapes and colors.

But he couldn’t, and that was why he was almost on top of the footprints at the edge of his property when he realized they were human. And it wasn’t until there was a loud _BANG_ and a .45 caliber bullet tore through the metal of his left leg and he was suddenly face-first on the ground that he realized that not only were they human footprints, but they were made by someone wearing cowboy boots.

Miller rolled over quickly, pointing his gun to the left, where he assumed his assailant was, only to hear the muffled _clink_ of spurs somewhere to his right. Before he could move, _BANG_ and he’d been shot in the shoulder and his arm dropped like lead, no longer responding to his muscle impulses.

_But he was to my left!_ Miller thought, firing blindly to the right. And there was another _BANG_ and Miller remembered that that man was fond of ricocheting bullets and another bullet exploded into his prosthetic arm, which now hung off his body by a scrap of twisted metal.

He fired again, but only once, realizing he hadn’t hit him already and he’d probably moved and since his SOCOM wasn’t silenced and his ears were ringing from the noise, he’d ruined his own chances at finding him before he was shot again.

_BANG_. His SOCOM was shot out of his hand, again from behind. Was he back there, then? Miller couldn’t quite reach where his gun had fallen and threw himself in its direction, crawling quickly. Realistically, though, he knew he had no chance. He was blind and crippled and effectively deaf.

A fifth _BANG_ , and this one went right into his back. Miller fell forward into the snow, forced himself back to his knee, and coughed up blood. He could feel warm fluid pooling on both sides of his jacket and every breath he drew was agonizing and when he exhaled even he could see that the fog in front of his face was tinged with a dark spray.

There was a crunch of snow behind him.

“You bastard,” Miller spat, more of his blood staining the snow below him. “I’m lungshot. Why didn’t you just save me the suffering and shoot me in the head? You certainly had the chance.”

“I just wanted to see you one last time,” Ocelot said, “face to face.”

He half-circled his prey and came to a stop directly in front of him, where he squatted to meet Miller’s height. “You always knew this day was coming,” Miller snarled.

“So did you,” Ocelot said simply. “But I did always wish it wouldn’t. You may have been annoying, but I never really disliked you. In fact, I was actually somewhat fond of you.”

“I’m afraid the feeling’s not mutual,” Miller said, then whipped out his SOCOM, which he’d been lying on and lying in wait for Ocelot to get this close.

But Ocelot was quicker. He shot Miller right in the index finger, blowing it clean off. Miller dropped the SOCOM and coughed up blood again. It was just as well, he realized when the pain didn’t set in - he’d neglected to put on gloves and it was a February night in Alaska. His fingers - all four that were left - were completely numb. He couldn’t have actually _pulled_ the trigger.

He suspected Ocelot knew that.

“So now what?” Miller wheezed, “you’re out of bullets. Are you just going to sit here until I drown in my own blood?”

Ocelot sighed, almost affectionately. “I can speed it up the process a little.” He grabbed Miller’s hair and pulled it, forcing him to lie on his back. Then he straddled his hips and put his gloved hands around Miller’s neck, although for the moment his touch was - practically gentle.

Miller spat in his face.

“You always were a sick fuck,” he said as Ocelot wiped blood and saliva off his cheek with his sleeve.

“You sure you want those to be your last words?” Ocelot said, his fingers back around his neck, leaning forward.

“Go to hell.”

He squeezed. Miller choked.

“Do you want to hear a secret, Kaz?” Ocelot said as Miller silently screamed and kicked his one leg and tried to force his fingers between Ocelot’s hands and his throat ineffectually, “about the Patriots - the same Patriots that used to be called Cipher - the same Cipher that ruined your life and everything you’d ever loved and worked for, and you still went crawling back to them in the end - do you want to hear a secret about them, Kaz?”

Miller just desperately tried to pull air through a closed windpipe into collapsed lungs.

“Their days are numbered, Kaz. I’m going to destroy them, and that’s why you have to die. Because that’s what Liquid - you remember him, little Eli, he’s all grown up now - that’s what he wants, and I need Liquid as part of my plan to destroy the Patriots. So sorry it had to be this way.”

Miller’s eyes rolled back in his head and his whole body started spasming. Blood-tinged saliva ran down his chin and the sides of his face.

“But really, you should be glad to die for something you once believed in. You can die as something more than the shell of a man you’ve been living as these past many years.”

Miller’s back arched violently, lifting Ocelot up and shifting his weight so that, with a _crunch_ , his neck snapped. He twitched one more time, then collapsed into the black snow, the blood’s color having been robbed by the moonlight, and moved no more.

Ocelot stayed on him for a minute longer, almost meditatively, before standing up and stretching. “Was it good for you too, Kaz?” he purred.

Kaz was dead.

“It’d be a shame to stay out here in the cold, though,” Ocelot said, picking up his corpse and carrying him back to the house over his shoulders. “Neither of us are getting any younger - especially you - and this sort of temperature is bad for our joints.”

He undressed Miller and laid him to rest in his bed, closing his eyes and mouth and tucking him in, and after a moment’s pause, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and laying it over his face.

“It really is a shame it had to come to this,” he said to no one in particular.


End file.
